The Deal
by TheVenetianHarper
Summary: Inspired by the "Seven Deadly Sins" Gilligan's Island theory, Archangel Michael and Satan have a heated discussion concerning the fate of six particular castaway souls trapped in Limbo, and the main reason for their placement on the island.


Notes: First, a few disclaimers: none of the views expressed in this story are my own. Everything stated is for the sake of story telling.  
WARNING TO ANY RELIGIOUS READERS: some of statements given in this story critique Heaven, Hell, angels and the Devil. While it has never been my intention to attack religion or its people, some statements critique religion very aggressively, and may be offensive to some readers.  
WARNING TO GILLIGAN'S ISLAND FANS: Firstly, the actual characters of the story only appear very VERY briefly, as the majority of the story takes place between Arch Angel Michael and Satan posing as Gilligan, so unfortunately you won't get to see much of the other castaways at all. Secondly, while I am aware that there are different interpretations for which character fits which sin according to the theory, I have decided to choose only ONE interpretation for the sake of efficiency.  
This is a fanfiction that's been on my mind for years now, and at this point I"m just trying to get it off my chest. I hope you enjoy it, though.

"The Deal"

Gilligan stood gazing up at the palm trees, watching the leaves sway in the tropical breeze. His eyes reflected the bright sunshine, and his smile was warm, as if thinking on pleasant memories. Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps crunching in sand behind him, and he gave a slight turn of his waist, peering over his shoulder. There stood a man, wearing a smooth, white three-piece suit. He had golden blonde hair, and sky-blue eyes. He stood, his body tense, as if simply being there was uncomfortable. "Well hi, stranger," Gilligan greeted, turning completely around, "have you come to save us from the island?" The man said nothing, continuing to glare. "I'm afraid the skipper isn't available," Gilligan widened his eyes, "are you stuck on the island too?"

"Oh, would you just drop it already?" the man snapped. Gilligan stood still for a moment, gazing at this man with seeming innocence. His unassuming expression slowly shifted to one of bored disinterest. "Oh fine," he drawled, turning around and walking toward the trees. He wiped sand off a boulder and sat himself down on it. He leaned himself against a tree, crossing his arms, "which one are you, then? Lil' Raphael? Lil' Gabe?"

"You don't recognize the one who cast you out?" the man asked, walking toward him to close the distance a bit more, stopping a few meters. "Mikey!" crowed Gilligan, snapping his fingers, "of course. I can't believe I didn't recognize your righteous authority stance." He spread out his hands, "how do you like Limbo? I jazzed it up a bit. I think the palm trees really add it…flavor." Michael regarded him carefully, knowing he was no longer looking into the eyes of a human named Gilligan. "Sorry about that," the one whom Heaven knew as Satan said warmly, "when you've been playing the part for so long, it's hard to shake off."

"Did you have fun?" Michael snarled sarcastically through his teeth. Satan flashed a big smile, as friendly as a hyena's. "Mikey, Mikey, Mikey. Of course, I had fun. That was the entire bloody point!" he gestured wildly at his surroundings, "what was this all for, if not that?"

"The deal," Michael seethed, stepping closer. Satan raised his chin, now smirking with snide amusement. "The deal," Michael repeated, "you received souls representing the seven deadly sins-"

"And the rest of humanity gets a break from my influences," Satan interrupted matter-of-factly, "honestly Michael, it's as if you forgot who you were talking to." His soft blue eyes slowly bled into a shade of dark red as he spoke. "I was even nice enough to give you a discount!" he said, "it would've been seven whole souls, but no! Since you angels are suddenly so queasy with a little…collecting, I said that if you could find one soul that matched more than one sin, then I wouldn't require any more than six." He casually strolled up to Michael, who held his ground. "I wonder how you felt," Satan spoke softly, watching him with calculating eyes, "having to hand pick all those souls. Envious Mary Ann. Lustful Ginger," he began numbering off on his fingers, "greedy Mr. Howell, his lazy wife, the proud Professor." He stopped and slowly rose a sixth finger, "and good ol' Skipper, so hungry and so full of wrath." As clouds overhead began filling the sky, the environment became duller from the lack of sunshine. As it did so, Satan's red eyes shone eerily with a light of their own. His smile, though sweet on the surface, held an underlining malice. Michael stared back, eyes steeled with determination. "You did such a good job," praised Satan, lightly slapping Michael on the arm, who flinched, "really! And because of you, I have been occupied with torturing these souls for so many years. And how well it's gone for the rest of you, hm? How many souls have you been able to repent during my absence? It must've been a lot." The archangel didn't respond. "A hundred? A thousand?" Satan baited. He gasped loudly, "a million?"

"So, what then?" Michael asked, ignoring his question, "will you stay away from the Earth, like we agreed?"

"Yeah…see, about that," Satan responded casually, "I'm bored, Michael, so thoroughly bored. How many times do you think one devil can flub their escape plans, or annoy them so much they go crazy? There're so many times you can make them think they've escaped, only to send them right back. Even that, as satisfying as it is, gets old, you know."

"What about the souls?"

"Why, where you'd expect them to go," Satan pointed toward the ground, "downward."

"What about the Earth?" asked Michael urgently. Satan flashed him another predatory smile, "well, I no longer have the souls here. The deal no longer holds." Michael's eyes flashed, "no!"

"Oh come on, Michael, be a sport! You had to know this would happen eventually," Satan pointed a finger accusingly at him. "Of course, this had to end eventually," Michael gritted his teeth, "I just didn't think it would be so soon."

"You had a good amount of time to do the repenting you wanted to do," Satan's smile and playful tone were gone. Now, his eyes were full of fury. "Against my better judgement, I played along with your little bargain," he hissed, "I could've refused, you realize that right? I could've continued dragging as many souls with me as I could possibly carry. And when I let you prance about on Earth as you liked, now you're complaining?" He bared his teeth, "I didn't know Heaven's best warriors were replaced by brats." Thunder sounded in the distance, the wind picking up drastically. Despite this, Michael's shoulders relaxed, and he smirked. "You don't have control over what happens on Earth," he said, with a tinge of smugness, "you don't hold dominion on Earth anymore." Satan seemed to snap out of his anger with renewed mirth. "Old news, Michael! Or haven't you heard that the current owner is dead now?" Satan shook a finger at him with a 'tsk tsk.' He danced to the side a little, kicking up sand, "and it's not like our dear Lord has stopped me, right? There I was, wandering the Earth, and he hasn't batted an eye. But!" he stopped, holding up a hand as if to prevent Michael from speaking, "that's neither here nor there. Because I'm curious." He walked up to Michael so that they were face to face again. Michael looked down and to the side, noticing that Satan had kicked up what looked to be a ship captain's hat, now sticking halfway out of the sand. He said nothing in response, regarding the hat with pity. "I wonder how many of these souls believed in God?" Satan inquired, "how many of them were, perhaps, religious. Practiced his teachings?"

"We picked the souls for their sinfulness, not their purity," Michael said, meeting his gaze again, "I believe that was the point."

"Think about it, though. Were their sins truly terrible?"

"If they weren't, we wouldn't have sent them to you," Michael pointed out. "These souls, of course, had their…moments," Satan agreed readily, "they've locked each other up, back stabbed each other a couple times, and even thought me a nuisance which, honestly, I can't blame them for. I was pretty bad." He gave a guilty grin. "Yes," Michael said slowly, "which made them fit your terms. I'm afraid I don't know what you're getting at."

"What I'm getting at," Satan spat impatiently, "is that it wasn't always like that. When I thought they were done with me, they've shown me compassion, and concern for my well-being. It would've been easy for them to disregard me entirely, but they've had genuine moments of being the best humanity could be." He scoffed upon seeing Michael's skeptical expression. "I mean, you could've chosen murderers, or robbers, or something like that," he added, "but you chose these six, ordinary humans. No more greedy or prideful or what-have-you than any other human." He raised a quizzical brow. "I cannot agree. They lived by their sins," Michael frowned, "just because they showed a bit of decency, doesn't mean they don't belong here. Their sinful behaviours prevent them from ascending to Heaven, so why are you complaining?" Satan looked at him incredulously, "you mean to tell me that you wouldn't get the same result, if you had just randomly picked seven humans?"

"I…don't understand."

Satan sighed, "Fine, I'll spell it out for you. Take Mr. Howell for example. There's a hundred like him, filthy rich men. They breathe, eat and crap money. They can't live without it, and they won't let anyone else have it. But Thurston certainly wasn't the worst of them, not by a long shot. And when it comes to Mary-Ann, oh my!" He widened his eyes dramatically at Michael, "have you been living under a rock? Because it seems you've completely missed the 'perfect body' culture. Thousands of people must have looked at celebrities like Ginger, and wished they were more like her, because they think that's the peak of beauty." He began to cry out in an imitation of different voices, "'Buy this cream for your wrinkles!' 'Spend money on this treatment for your unsightly fat!'" He pouted at Michael, "Mary Ann, poor thing, a product of the average girl suffering the effects of societal expectations, is hardly the worst of them either. Envy is something to be learned, nowadays." Michael shook his head, "humans have lived in sin since the beginning, since Adam and Eve. This isn't new."

"Geez, Michael! Do you have any new ideas? That's not what I'm saying!" Satan was getting agitated now, "think about it. Were they truly the worst of their kind, enough for you to send them directly to me?" Michael merely stared at him, unwilling to respond.

"These people, what have they truly done to deserve to be here?" asked Satan, "you and I both know it wasn't really because of how 'bad' they were. We both know how bad humans can get. Heck, I live with the worst of them!" He gave a gleeful expression as if he had delivered a punchline. Michael didn't smile. "You know what's one of the most common questions the souls here in Limbo ask? The John and Jane Does of humanity?" Satan raised his hands up, almost pleadingly, to the sky, "they cast up their eyes and ask, 'why God, why? What did I do to deserve this?' all the while the answer was right there in front of their faces, so simple yet so…absurd." He slowly lowered his hands, clasped them in front of him and gazed sweetly at the angel. "It's because they exist," he said calmly, "that's all. They exist. That's why they deserve it, isn't it? That's all it takes to be unworthy in the eyes of God. In the end, you chose truly average humans, not extraordinary sinners."

"Are you quite done?" Michael snapped. Satan's expression only softened, "honestly Michael. No matter how many souls you repent in the short time I've been gone, according to your strict admission rules, only an infinitesimal amount will succeed. In the end of it all, hordes of souls, atheists and Wiccans and Buddhists and Hindus, will go to me. What a weight off your shoulders, eh? Lucky you!" He flashed finger guns playfully at Michael. The angel appeared to pale a little. "What happens to humanity is all because of their choices," he said carefully, "they choose to do this to themselves, to bring punishment upon themselves. Humanity needs to learn that the only way to enter Heaven is to turn to God and follow his teachings, to devote themselves to him."

"And how's that going for you?" Satan asked, "swimmingly, right? It's not as though more people have been turning towards independence from religion as time goes by. To me, the number of souls you collect seems to be dwindling." He tapped his chin, "it seems to me like my own involvement will only make things worse for you…" He paused. "Unless," he added coyly. "What?" Michael asked cautiously.

"You find me another six or seven souls to play with. I remain occupied for another few years, or if they're entertaining enough, a hundred years." Despite himself, Michael was appalled, "Satan, once was enough." Satan shrugged, "fine. Then when I come back, I come back with a new goal." He flashed Michael a warning look, "I will actively try to collect as many souls as possible, with my own power." Michael smirked again, although this time it was more forced, "we are the Host of Heaven," he said proudly, "we are the stronger force. We have been squashing your efforts since you fell. That's how it's been, and that's how it will always be. And on the day of Judgement, we will win again." Satan fell silent, and the stony expression on his face was unreadable. At first, for Michael, the silence was welcome. Then it became uncomfortable, as he realized along with Satan's silence, the wind had stopped. Air no longer moved, nor did the waves, leaving the ocean stagnant. Suddenly, Satan began to laugh. It started small, then grew in volume as he laughed harder than it seemed he ever had before. He slapped his knees, gasping for air between bursts of laughter. Michael was full to the brim with rage, "what is so funny?" Still laughing, Satan straightened up, and clapped his hands slowly thrice. "Bravo," he chuckled, "your speech was stupendous. As the poster boy of Heaven, you really leave an impression. Michael, dear ignorant silly angel, was I really trying before?" The angel blinked in evident confusion. "Look at you, so smug, so confident in your power as the Arch Angel," Satan mocked, "so willing to believe that, in terms of power, that you are my superior." He guffawed nastily, "is that really what they tell you? Is that what they feed you up in glitter city?"

"It's the truth!" bellowed Michael.

"The truth? You're so powerful that you," Satan advanced towards him, pointing a finger firmly at him, "have to bribe me, me, with souls just so you could have Earth all to yourself for a few years?"

Michael fell silent.

"You look down on me when you act as if my very absence gives you an advantage? Do you not see how funny that is?" Satan asked, in a tone that was somewhere between exasperation and amusement, "just how much does my presence mean to you?"

"It means nothing to me!" Michael thundered. Satan shook his head, with pity in his eyes, "Michael. Did you think I was really trying my hardest, the past few thousand years? Do you really want me to get seriously involved? With everything I am, with all that I have? I can prove it, if you like."

Michael opened his mouth as if to dispute, but seeing the calm on Satan's face, he stopped to study him. The man opposite him, lanky bodied and plain looking, seemed to be absolutely serious with his claim. "You can't be suggesting starting another war with Heaven," he accused. Satan smiled. "Of course not. That would be getting ahead of the divine schedule, and God knows we can't do that. I'm simply suggesting adding a bit of spice to our ongoing...friendly competition." He flashed a large grin, now with sharp canine teeth. "Now that I'm bored, what better way to spend my time?" he asked playfully. Michael considered his options. He was sure Satan was bluffing, he had to be. But what if he wasn't? It was hard enough, with his dark minions running about on Earth. If he was truly serious about strengthening his involvement in the playing field…

"Seven souls, Michael," Satan said, his voice eerily soft, "just seven. Seven, against billions. Seven, and I stay here, as snug as a bug, minding my own business." He held out a hand. "Seven," he repeated, wiggling his fingers, waiting. Michael scowled down at Satan's hand, and for a minute he didn't say anything. "You get seven," he finally snarled, "no more. And you better make it last." Satan shrugged and retracted his hand, "it's a deal then!" He laughed once more and clapped his hands together, "wonderful!" he cheered, "the sacrifice of the few for the good of the many, am I right? And here I thought you'd become such a stick in the mud, but you've still got a good head on that celestial body of yours, hm?" He squatted down, digging his hand into the sand. He suddenly pulled out a human skull, sand pouring out of its eye sockets. He raised the skull aloft, "alas, poor Mary-Ann, I knew her well." Then he began to laugh once more. He was still laughing when Michael left the beach, feeling slightly queasy. As he left, he began to wonder, very briefly, who really had the whole situation in the palm of their hand.

Satan turned around, once he could no longer feel the angel's presence. His smile disappeared. He placed the skull back down onto the sand, "Sweet Mary Ann." He dug in the sand and picked up another skull with a sigh, "*Unicas masotatus. What a mess, am I right, professor?" He began finding more skulls, "clever Professor…funny Mr. Howell…kind Mrs. Howell…talented Ginger…" He looked back to the captain's hat. He strode over to it, dug his fingers into the sand, hooked them into the eye sockets of the skull on which the hat sat, and pulled it out. "And you," he shook his finger at it with a smile, "you…passionate Skipper. You always liked putting the work on me, didn't you? You have a nice touch of sloth in you as well."  
He placed them all in a line, facing him, "you all have a touch of multiple different sins, it's true. They must've truly scrambled for souls." He took a few steps back, looking at them all. He simply stared at them for a while, naming each of them again in his head. "No matter how many times you try, there's no going back to your homes," he said to them, "I'm afraid that it's your fate to be lost, forever." He shook his head sadly, "there's no going up for you, either. They won't accept you. I'm sorry." He paused. The skulls sat silently, staring lifelessly back at him. "This is the best I can do for you," he continued, "you can't go up. But despite what I told Mr. High-and-Mighty back there, you're not going down either. It's not ideal, but Limbo is not the worst place to be. Sure, you'll have your morality slip-ups, quarrels, and times of despair. But you'll always have each other, like you've always had these past few years." He sighed. "I don't want you to worry, though. I'll take care of you, just like I have with every somewhat well-intentioned outcast they've sent my way. More may be joining you, however. Do get along, won't you? The island is more than big enough for all of you." He smiled, "I'm your little buddy, after all. Isn't that right, Skipper?" His red eyes returned to the soft shade of blue, "it's time to wake up," and he snapped his fingers. Suddenly, in the place of the skulls were the castaways, all six of them. Skipper, Mr. and Mrs. Howell, Ginger, Mary Ann and the Professor. They stood looking at Satan, all very human, and all seemingly ignorant of what happened prior. "Gilligan, what're you doing just standing there?" Skipper exclaimed, "we've got work to do if we're going to get off this island." Gilligan smiled brightly and followed them back to the jungle, "Aye, aye, Skipper!"

(*This bit of Latin is something the Professor says in the show. I've tried to look up how it's actually spelled, to no avail.), "Aye, aye, Skipper!"


End file.
